


How I Met the Vampire Slayer

by Lirazel



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:58:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirazel/pseuds/Lirazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barney's got a new pickup line.  Why is no one surprised?  But this one has some interesting results....</p>
            </blockquote>





	How I Met the Vampire Slayer

"Barney, in all the time I've known you, how many women do you think I've watched you pick up?"

Barney's cracking his knuckles, shifting his shoulders, rolling his neck: basically turning this whole thing into a performance. As always. Barney's the biggest drama queen Ted knows, and in a group involving himself, Lilly, and Marshall, that's saying a hell of a lot.

"Oh, I don't know, Ted. Thousands?" Somehow Barney manages to sound both smug and bored at the same time. How does he _do_ that? And why oh why oh why does Ted continue to hang out with him?

One of life's greatest mysteries. Like, _How do you find the one you're supposed to be with?_ and _Why does the prequel trilogy suck so hard?_ Also like, _How does Barney come _ up _with this stuff?_ Ted shakes his head, knowing that that's one question, at least, he'll never discover the answer to. "And in all that time, this is the _stupidest_ line I've heard you come up with. Stupider than the one comparing yourself to Barney the dinosaur."

Marshall looks up from his hot wings, face all lit up with curiosity and barbecue sauce. "I haven't heard that one!"

"Trust me, buddy, you don't want to. It's perverse. And vulgar. And flat-out disgusting." He turns back to Barney. "But this line. I'm serious. It's stupider than the one involving that Weird Al song with all the bad pickup lines."

Marshall giggles, licking some sauce off of his fingers. "Oh, yeah. That was a good one. Barney, you looked great with cocktail sauce in your hair. That chick was _scary_."

Barney sends him a dirty look, then turns back to Ted. "Bro, I don't understand why you can't see the genius that is this line. It's _perfect_. Flawless in every way."

"It's stupid," Ted repeats flatly.

"I don't know, Ted," Marshall says thoughtfully. "I think it could work."

Barney throws his hands up in the air. "_Thank_ you! Someone who appreciates the well-crafted grandeur that is this line." Now he leans forward, elbows up on the table. "Ted, listen to me. This line has it all." He starts ticking off its attributes on his fingers. "It's timely—tapping into the _zeitgeist_ of our modern era. It's playful, making use of great pop cultural references, while also speaking to the secret longings that lie at the bottom of that endless black hole that is the heart of a woman. And most importantly of all—" Another smug smile. "—it'll work."

"Yeah. On a fifteen-year-old," Ted snorts. And then freezes. He _wouldn't_. He wouldn't _possibly_….

Barney clearly catches on to his train of that, because he rolls his eyes and waves his hand dismissively. "Ted, you know that I always check ID before the actual deed. And I'm better at spotting a fake than the NYPD, every bartender in America, _and_ the few Nazi grandmas who actually check IDs at R-rated movies _combined_, I'll tell you that. Eighteen and above. Only." He pauses thoughtfully. " Unless I'm in Europe." Another dirty grin. "Say, did you have any idea that the age of consent varies widely from country to country?"

Ted so _doesn't_ want to know this. It might be the very last thing on earth he wants to know. He'd much rather steer the conversation back toward how _stupid_ this line is. "Any woman over the age of eighteen is going to laugh in your face."

Barney shakes his head mournfully. "Ted, Ted, Ted. I find your lack of faith disturbing. This. Will. Work." He takes a last swig of bourbon and straightens his tie. "And it's going to work on that girl right there."

And then he's gone.

Ted and Marshall exchange looks, then bolt from the booth, Ted darting back to grab a napkin. He offers it to Marshall. "You got a little—" He waves his fingers around his face.

"Oh! Thanks!" Marshall grabs the napkin and immediately starts mopping at the barbecue sauce smeared around his mouth.

Then they edge closer to where Barney's approaching a—_really adorable_—brunette at the bar: close but not too close. Over the course of their friendship with Barney, they've learned that watching him in action is like going to SeaWorld: sit too close to the show, and you're going to end up soaked. It's been a lot of things over the years—water, soda, every kind of alcohol imaginable, ketchup, mustard, relish, and every other variety of condiment (even, a couple of times in Australia, Vegemite). Once, at a super-fancy dinner party (Ted _thinks_ it was thrown by Donald Trump, but he's never been entirely sure) Barney convinced the group to crash, a gorgeous redhead hurled a plate of caviar at Barney's head. Fortunately, by that time Ted had figured out the SeaWorld Rule and was standing far enough away that his rented tux didn't get fish-egged.

But it was an art, really, figuring out how close to stand so that you could hear everything that went on, but being far enough away so that you were sure your shirt/pants/shoes wouldn't end up as collateral damage.

They position themselves in the perfect spot just in time to see Barney lean one elbow against the bar, lounging lazily right next to the adorable brunette. "Hello, gorgeous."

She just looks at him.

Barney is Barney, however, and so completely undiscouraged. He grins and then says with all the gravitas of Lincoln giving the Gettysburg Address: "I'll be the Edward to your Bella."

Marshall giggles. That's Marshall's usual reaction to a bad line.

Ted chokes. He can't believe Barney actually _said_ it.

The brunette arches a brow. "Yeah?"

Barney's grin widens into the leer he gets when he senses victory at hand. "Absolutely. It'll be undying, immortal love, baby. The kind that's so powerful, so momentous, so transcendent—nay, so _earth-shattering_—that it makes teenage girls and their desperate housewife moms stand in line for hours at Comic-Con just to catch a _glimpse_ of it." He leans closer to her, his face inches from hers. "What do you say?"

She tilts her head to the side, pretending to think. Then: "No, thank you," she replies so sweetly that Ted thinks everyone in the bar will probably develop diabetes. "But I'll be your Buffy if you'll be my random vamp. Stake, fire, beheading: pick your poison." And with that, she sets her drink down, slides her purse strap over her shoulder, and walks away.

Ted stares after her. Barney and Marshall are probably also staring after her, but Ted doesn't notice because suddenly this girl has catapulted from "adorable" to "sexiest woman _alive_."

Ignoring Barney, who's gaping like a fish (SeaWorld, remember?) and Marshall, who's giggling again (and he definitely missed a spot: there's a huge gob of barbecue sauce on his chin), Ted straightens his shoulders and heads determinedly after her, thanking the god that is Joss Whedon for the big blinking neon sign screaming, "SHE'S THE ONE."

\--

And that's how Ted Mosby met the mother of his children.

**Author's Note:**

> Whatever, y'all. Ted's _totally_ a _Buffy_ fan.


End file.
